Something terrible has happened to my children. When they were little, they accepted the indisputable fact that my taste in music was the best in the world, mainly because they had it on good authority (ie, mine) that this was true. I had succeeded in convincing them that the late Sky Saxon of mid-60s LA one-hit wonders the Seeds was as culturally important as Mick Jagger, that the answers to most of life’s questions could be found within the gnomic lyrics to Forever Changes by Love, that being into folk music is nothing to be ashamed of and that on no account must they worship at the altar of those false gods Justin Bieber and Jessie J. Now, despite my best efforts, they have had…